


Singing a Song of Demons and Angels

by Nopride4531



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Quarantine, but it's not terrible, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopride4531/pseuds/Nopride4531
Summary: Aziraphale, Crowley, and the Quarantine.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Singing a Song of Demons and Angels

It was amazing, Aziraphale decided, what good people came up with when faced with the bleakest of situations. _Singing!_ In _Italy!_ The very thought made his heart soar. Humans. They never ceased to amaze him. 

And to think, just a little while ago, Heaven and Hell had wanted to end it all. 

“What do you make of all this?” Crowley asked, newspaper in one hand, the other waving around in the air for emphasis.

Aziraphale shrugged as he steeped his tea. “I don’t know, honestly. But it seems rather tricky, doesn’t it?”

Crowley hummed. “As does everything lately.”

They stayed silent for a moment, Aziraphale by the window of the bookshop, Crowley stretched out on the sofa. Over the last few weeks, the world seemed to be heading for more trouble than it knew what to do with. Another apocalypse, perhaps. Only this one had nothing to do with them.

“Did it say how many?” Aziraphale eventually asked when Crowley tossed the newspaper to the side. 

“More than yesterday.” He stared up at the ceiling. Uncharacteristically quiet, he blinked a few times before continuing: “Angel… you don’t think…”

He trailed off, but Aziraphale understood. By heaven, he _always_ understood. After all, they’d never needed words in the past. Now, even in trying times, was no different.

“No,” he said firmly. “Pestilence is _not_ coming out of retirement.” He gave Crowley a reassuring, promising smile. _You and I both know,_ it said, _we won’t let that happen._ “There’s not going to be a second Armageddon, my dear.”

Crowley glanced over at him, the barest hint of a grin on his face. Those eyes of his watched Aziraphale as if he was the most important thing in the world. And, as Aziraphale had been told many times, to Crowley, he _was._

“You’re right.” Crowley rolled one of his ankles with a rather loud pop. It would’ve sounded concerning to human ears, but as it was, no humans were in the shop. “We stopped one already. If it comes to it, we’ll stop another.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Exactly.” He miracled his tea into the sink, wincing as he heard the bitter clang of porcelain against whatever other dirty dishes he had in there. He sighed, then changed gears. “Now what would you say to some lunch?”

“Everything’s closed, Angel.” Crowley’s voice was soft.

Damn. Aziraphale had forgotten about the bloody quarantine.

“Right,” he said, clearly disappointed. “Forgot about that.”

He saw Crowley roll his eyes, sit up straight, then snap his fingers. Immediately, right in the middle of the bookshop, a table for two sat like it had always been there. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale eyed everything carefully–including the two candles in the center. “What’s for lunch?”

Crowley’s voice, this time, was devious. “Why don’t we find out?”


End file.
